A sudden strong gust cracked the mast and tossed it into the sea along with the sail. The hull seemed to disappear for a moment but then resurfaced and the king saw the men chopping with axes at the shrouds still entangled in the broken shaft of the mast.

Once free of the water-filled sail which had been dragging the ship down like an anchor, the hull dipped at the stern and, as the oars struck the surface of the sea, straightened up again. The king was watching all this with such anxiety that he had not even noticed what was happening on his own ship. He turned and saw the thwarts being washed by the waves; the men were drenched, yet they arched their backs and dug in their feet with every stroke of their oars. Myrsilus shouted out the rowing tempo, his voice overcoming the noise of the squall and the ominous creaking of the hull. He knew that their lives were in the hands of the men at the oars; the moment they were sapped by fatigue, the ship would sink.

The Chnanwas at the bow, grasping on to the ship’s railing, scanning the sea desperately for a safe haven. He turned all at once towards the stern and yelled out with all the breath he had in him to Myrsilus: ‘Put about! Veer to starboard!’ Myrsilus shouted the order to the rowers and leaned into the helm, trying to push it left.

Diomedes ran to his side and the king’s strength got the upper hand over the sea. The hull twisted, forced by the might of the hero who guided the toil of over one hundred arms racked by spasms, and the bow veered to the left, taking the brunt of the wind on its right side. The ship picked up speed and listed sharply and Myrsilus feared for a moment that the vessel would smash to pieces. But the Chnanknew what he was doing; he was directing them towards a strait wedged between two tongues of land. Before long, something miraculous happened: from one moment to the next, they found themselves in a vast mirror of calm waters barely rippled by short, close waves.

‘Oh gods!’ gasped Myrsilus, not believing what he saw. ‘Oh gods, what is this?’

The Chnantraversed the ship from bow to stern, looking down at the still waters and up at the open sea, whipped by the squall.

‘To shore!’ shouted the king. ‘Hurry, we must guide our comrades to this place or all of them will die!’ The men rowed first to a little island on their left and then to another on their right; on each Diomedes set fire to a jar of resin and pitch, lighting them from the embers which were always kept burning in a covered urn under the curved stern. The comrades at sea saw the two lights and steered their ships towards the narrow strait, as the king’s vessel had done. Four ships made it but the fifth, the last one, could not overcome the force of the sea and the wind. From the island, all the men shouted loudly to encourage their comrades still at the mercy of the sea, but the crew was exhausted by the long struggle. Diomedes saw the oars stop moving, one by one, and slip into the sea, he saw the hull, no longer animated by the strength of its crew, turn in a spin. It offered its side to the sea, and sank.

The king clenched his fists and lowered his head.

The men began to gather the branches and tree trunks that the tides had abandoned on the beach, and lit fires to dry themselves, their clothing and cloaks. They then hauled the ships aground and took refuge inside. They stretched the sails over the thwarts and lay down beneath them, holding each other close to keep warm. The wind continued to blow all night without cease, not subsiding until dawn. The next morning the sea gave up the bodies of some of their comrades who had drowned in the storm. They were green with algae and their eyes were open in a watery stare, like those of fish that a fisherman tosses on the beach to die.

They were buried in that low, grey land, among the cane thickets and brushwood on a clear, cold morning, and when the king had finished their funeral rites, the four pilots of the ships, including Myrsilus, approached him.

‘Let us stop here, wanax,’ Myrsilus said, speaking first. ‘We have already lost many men. The days are getting shorter and the weather is worsening. If we go on, we will all die. How will you be able to found your kingdom then? Who will you share your destiny with?’

The king turned to face the sea and seemed to be absentmindedly watching the swell of the waves which stretched out over the sand until they licked at his feet. The Chnanspoke then: ‘I heard tell of this place from a sailor of Ashkelon who had learned about it from an Achaean of Rhodes who imported amber. I think we have reached the coast of the Seven Seas: seven lagoons which pour into one another until they reach the mouth of the Eridanus. There lie the Electrides islands, where amber falls from the sky, they say. . or where amber arrives on mule-back from the lands of the long nights, I say. From this point on, the paths of the sea are calm and sheltered. We need only steer clear of the shallows, but a man with a sounding line at the bow will suffice to avoid them.’

Diomedes turned to him: ‘You know many things, and you saved my ships yesterday. When I found my kingdom I will build you a house and give you weapons and a cloak. I will give you a beautiful woman, tall with rounded hips. But tell me, why is it that yesterday you spoke in the language of the Achaeans? You’ve been with us for some time and you’ve never spoken a word in our language.’

‘Because there had been no need,’ replied the Chnan, ‘but I thank you for your promise. I would ask you to do the same with your Hittite slave as well. He saved you and all of us by setting the grasslands on fire.’

The king shook his head: ‘I owe my life to a slave and to a foreign merchant! I wonder whether our gods still have power over these lands. . What you propose is only right; when I found my kingdom, the Chetaean slave will have the same things I’ve promised you.’ Then he turned to his men and said: ‘Let us go forward and explore these lands. We will seek a landing place where we can find water and food. There’s nothing here; not even the possibility of shelter.’

The men obeyed and put the ships to sea, first the king’s and then all the others. The Chnanstood at the bow, dropping a line every so often to gauge the depth of the water. Not much time had passed before they saw a group of low islands on the surface of the waves. They followed a wide channel that wound like a serpent through the small archipelago and soon sighted the mainland and went ashore. The place was deserted. The silence was broken only by the shrieks of sea birds flying low over the cane thickets. Diomedes sent some of the men hunting with bows and harpoons and then called Myrsilus. He ordered him to advance inland with a group of men, to see who lived in that land and whether they could settle there. He sent the Chnanwith him as well.

As soon as they had left the coast and were out of sight, the Chnansaid to Myrsilus: ‘Hide your arms here under the sand and keep only a dagger or sword under your cloak. We’ll move forward in small groups, at a distance from each other. In this area there should be a market where the goods that come from the north are exchanged with those that come from the sea. Merchants won’t attract attention, but armed men would.’

Myrsilus was reluctant to abandon his arms, but remembering how the Chnanhad saved the fleet the day before, he thought it was best to heed his advice. He ordered his men to do as he had said. He took the lead in the first group, scanning the territory continuously as they advanced. He felt exposed, alone and naked in that flat solitude. In all his life, he had never crossed a land from which neither the mountains nor the sea could be seen, in which the countryside was not bright with myriad colours. Here, as never before, the land was a uniform, endless expanse, all the same pale green. They saw, towards midday, a herd of horses, hundreds of magnificent animals grazing peacefully, twitching their long tails; their long wavy manes nearly touched the ground. A pure white stallion galloped around a group of mares and ponies, his tail erect. He would stop and rear up, whinnying and pawing at the air, and then start to gallop again. No one guarded over them; that immense wealth seemed to belong to no one.